Close Enough for Love
by Neoyorquina
Summary: An alternate universe take on Olitz where Olivia is a disgraced presidential historian looking for career redemption while Fitz is a disgraced former POTUS looking for personal redemption. Can they help each other find what they both need to heal their wounded hearts?
1. Prologue

**A/N: **_Hello Gladiators! I'm back with another scandalous tale! This time it's an alternate universe take on Fitz and Olivia. In this universe Olivia is a presidential historian who was working on her PhD when she was forced out of her doctoral program for reasons that will be explained. Fitz was president but was impeached over the Defiance voter rigging scandal, which he didn't have anything to do with, but he was forced to leave office in disgrace. For that reason he's pretty angry and bitter about life in general. _

_This story is part romance/part mystery. Both Olivia and Fitz have personal demons that they're battling. Fitz has gone through a lot of pain, disappointment and rejection and is a bit of a crusty, cranky dude as a result. Olivia has also suffered her own share of pain and rejection as well.  
_

_This story takes place approximately three years after Fitz was forced out of office. Cyrus wants to rehab Fitz's image and decides it's time for Fitz to write his memoirs but he's going to need some help from a professional writer. Enter the biographer Olivia Pope. The following prologue takes place about a month in the future after Fitz and Olivia meet in Chapter 1.  
_

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

The knot of tension that had formed in Olivia's stomach the moment she entered the Margate Correctional Facility tightened even further when she crossed the threshold into the waiting room. But there was no turning back now. The answers she was looking for were behind those maximum-security steel doors and this was the only way she was going to get them.

After going through a series of security checks and metal detectors, Olivia was finally brought to a small low-ceilinged room divided by a wall of glass. She was about to take off her coat when she thought better of it and decided to keep it on. Despite the fact that the temperature in the prison was a toasty 72 degrees, Olivia didn't feel comfortable removing any article of clothing. She looked at the huge clock on the wall. 11:13 a.m. She was only going to be given 15 minutes with the prisoner. _How much longer was this going to take_, she wondered.

Then there was an electronic buzz as the door on the other side of the glass opened. In walked Prisoner #1489-0876, Zachariah Goodwin. He appeared to be in his early 50s and had the haggard appearance of a man doing hard time. Wearing the standard neon orange prison jumpsuit, and accompanied by two prison guards, he came shuffling in to the room, his ankles wrapped in leg irons and his wrists in handcuffs. The guards seated him in the chair directly across from Olivia. They were separated by about three inches of indestructible plexiglass.

"Well, aren't you a pretty one," said Prisoner 1489-0876 with a lustful tone.

"Sir, my name is Olivia Pope and I'm here…"

_"Sir?_ Goddamn, even when I was out free as a bird ain't nobody ever call me 'sir.' Say it again," Goodwin said with a lecherous grin.

Olivia cleared her throat. This interview was going to be much harder than she thought.

"Mr. Goodwin, my name is Olivia Pope and I am a writer and..."

"A writer? Here to see me? Get the fuck outta here," Goodwin said laughing. "I knew that being locked up in this shit hole would make me famous some day. You got a camera crew outside? Bring 'em in."

"No, you don't understand," Olivia said, visibly flustered. "I'm working on a biography of former Pres. Fitzgerald Grant and I'd like to ask you a few questions "

"Questions, huh? What kind of questions?"

"Well, I was going through some of Pres. Grant's private correspondence and came across your name written on a single sheet of paper and as you can imagine, it piqued my curiosity."

"You using some mighty big words, sweetheart. I ain't got nothing but a 9th-grade education. Speak to me in plain English."

"Your name was written on a piece of paper that I found in some of Pres. Grant's private papers," Olivia replied.

"What did Grant tell you about me?" Goodwin leaned forward and eyed Olivia suspiciously.

"Nothing."

"Hmm, ain't that a bitch," Goodwin said with a wry chuckle. He leaned back in his seat.

"Well, actually, he doesn't know that I know about you."

"You said you found my name written on some paper, huh?"

"Yes, that's correct," said Olivia.

"And that Grant didn't send you? That he doesn't know that you're here?" Goodwin was highly suspicious.

"That's right."

"Look, I may be behind bars but I'm not stupid. I can smell a trap from a mile away. _Who the fuck are you, really?"_

"Like I said, my name is Olivia Pope and I'm working on a book about Pres. Grant. I assure you, I am legitimate."

"There you go again with them big, fancy words," Goodwin said in an irritated tone. "Look, I ain't got jackshit to say to you."

Olivia looked up at the clock on the wall. The time was 11:27. She had three minutes left before the guards came back in to retrieve the prisoner. If she was going to get answers, it was now or never.

"The First Lady. Mellie Grant. What do you know about her death?" Olivia blurted out.

_"Huh? What?"_

"Do you know what happened? Was it truly a suicide or was it murder?"

A look of fear and panic contorted Goodwin's facial features.

_"GUARD!"_ Goodwin shouted. Gone was his earlier good ol' boy bravado. He was now agitated and clearly afraid. He started stomping his feet on the ground. _"GUARD!"_

"I know you know something, I know you know what happened!" Olivia exclaimed. "Tell me! **_Tell me now! Do you know who killed Mellie Grant?!"_**

_**"GUARD! GET ME OUTTA HERE!"**_

* * *

_A/N: Oh boy, this story is going to be dark. So in addition to Fitz having been forced out of office, his wife, the First Lady, has died under rather suspicious circumstances that I will explain in a later chapter. Let me know what you think in a review!  
_

_****__Don't want to miss a single chapter? Tick the box below that says "Follow Story" so you get email alerts as soon as the next chapter goes online. Thanks for reading! _

**_Find me on Twitter: NeoScandal_**


	2. First Contact

**Chap. 1: First Contact**

"Cyrus, what time is this writer coming over? I'd like to go for a ride before she arrives," Fitz said as he strode into the kitchen. Mrs. Banfield, his housekeeper, handed him a cup of coffee, black, one sugar, no cream.

Cyrus, who was on his cell phone, turned around, held up a finger to Fitz in a motion of _"be with you in a second."_

Fitz took the cup of coffee from Mrs. Banfield's outstretched hands and took a sip. He picked up the newspaper sitting on the counter. Front page headline read: _"Pres. Reston forges new link in Gaza deal with Egyptian leader"_

Fitz rolled his eyes and put the paper back down. Cyrus was still talking on the phone. Fitz looked at his watch. It was already a little past 8 a.m. and if he didn't get a move on, before he knew it, the day would be gone. He needed to clear his head and often the best way for him to do that was to go for a ride on his favorite stallion Poker Face.

Cyrus was still talking on the phone and it didn't sound like he was anywhere close to wrapping up his conversation. Fitz put down his cup of coffee, grabbed an apple from the nearby fruit basket and left.

* * *

Olivia was standing in baggage claim at the Santa Barbara airport waiting for her luggage to drop down the baggage carousel. She hadn't gotten a good rest on the flight and was now bone tired. Her jaw opened wide in a big yawn while she listened to Cyrus explain how to get to the Grant ranch. She cradled the phone against her ear as she rummaged through her handbag looking for a pen to write down the address.

"OK, I'll just take a cab. Shouldn't take longer than 30 minutes to get there, right?"

"Yeah, 40 mins max, depending on traffic," came the reply.

"OK, so I'll see you soon," Olivia said. "And, Cyrus, thanks again for giving me this opportunity. I really appreciate it."

Cyrus snorted. "Ha! Don't thank me yet, Olivia. You don't officially have the job yet!"

When Olivia left the airport she was struck by how dreary and unseasonably cool the weather was. A light drizzle began to fall. So much for being in sunny Southern California, she thought, rubbing her arms in an attempt to warm up. She must've arrived on the one day of the year that the weather was less than ideal. She reached into her bag and pulled out the lightweight lambskin caramel colored leather jacket she had had on in New York City and put it on. She was happy she had brought it. As she walked to the taxi stand, she caught a reflection of herself in the glass and groaned. "Girl, you look like shit," she said, pulling her mass of curls into a messy ponytail. Oh well, Cyrus didn't say anything at all about Pres. Grant being at the ranch and it was still morning. Hopefully she'd have time to get to the ranch, shower and change before meeting him.

When the cab pulled up to the address of the ranch, the driveway was blocked. Actually, the "driveway" was more like a road that led off into the woods and there right at the turn off from the main road was a sign that said "ROAD CLOSED" with a barrier across.

"Miss, this is the address. Sorry, but I can't go any further," said the cab driver.

Olivia groaned. This was not good. An already long journey was about to become even longer. She handed the driver the cash, said "keep the change" and got out. As the cab took off, Olivia looked ahead behind the "Road Closed" sign. There was no sign of any sort of ranch or property in sight from the main road. This was going to be a hike, she could tell.

The atmosphere was quite foggy and as soon as Olivia started walking, a light rain began to fall. "Oh great," Olivia thought. She didn't have an umbrella but she did have her newspaper boy cap. She pulled it out of her purse and put it on and started walking, pulling her little roller bag along. She had been walking for almost five minutes when she heard a dog barking. The barking was getting louder. _Oh no, I hope there aren't attack guard dogs protecting this property,_ she thought.

But then there was another sound accompanying the barking that was getting louder and louder the closer it got. A dog came running by, like a bat out of hell, and from behind her she heard the loud sound of hooves rapidly approaching. She turned to look and emerging out of the dense fog was a black stallion bearing right down on her. Olivia attempted to step out of the way when the humongous animal reared up on its hind legs and threw the rider off his saddle.

Fitz hit the gravel hard. _"Shit!"_ he shouted. He scrambled to get up off the ground, but as soon as he stood up, a pain shot through his left ankle and up his leg. _"You idiot!"_ he screamed. _"What the hell are you doing on this road?!"_

Olivia was stunned speechless. Her heart was beating rapidly. There, standing in front of her, was the former 44th President of the United States. In photos, Pres. Grant always looked distinguished. But here, standing right in front of him and seeing him in the flesh, Olivia could see what photos had only captured a fraction of and it was a little disconcerting seeing him dressed so casually. He was tall and ruggedly built, his muscular thighs covered in a pair of faded, well worn, broken-in jeans. Up top he was wearing a chocolate brown twill jacket with a heavyweight cotton navy blue henley that brought out the blue in his eyes. An unruly lock of his dark wavy hair curled over his forehead. He was gorgeous. And pissed.

"I….I…." she stammered.

"Speak!" Fitz yelled.

"I'm so, so, sorry….I didn't see…"

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing on my property?" Fitz asked angrily. This stupid woman had interrupted his morning commune with nature.

"My name is Olivia Pope and I'm actually here to see you," she said finally coherent, although her heart was still hammering away in her chest.

"Olivia Pope? The writer?" Fitz asked. He began to regard her a bit more closely.

"Yes, the writer. Cyrus Beene invited me here."

"Well, Ms. Pope, you're early," Fitz said abruptly. "My horse, bring him to me." Poker Face had come to a stop about 20 yards away and Fitz's ankle was throbbing. He didn't want to put his entire weight on it. He must've twisted it in the fall.

Olivia just stared at Fitz. He couldn't be serious.

"Go on. Bring the horse over to me so I can get back on. His name is Poker Face and he won't bite you."

Olivia slowly approached the massive and majestic beast. She was a city girl, so the closest she had ever come to riding a horse was when she was six years old and went on a pony ride at a birthday party. Olivia fearfully reached out her hand to try and grab the reins. Poker Face, sensing her anxiety, whinnied in disapproval and stepped back.

Annoyed, Fitz rolled his eyes and said to her, "Come here."

Olivia turned and looked at him. "I said, come here. Help me walk over to my horse."

Olivia obliged and Fitz leaned against her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, using her body as a support and crutch to help him walk the short distance over to his horse. Olivia was petite but surprisingly strong and her body didn't sag under his weight.

Once Fitz was standing next to Poker Face, he deftly took hold of the reins and then swung himself up into the saddle. He looked down at Olivia, who still seemed to be in a little bit of a daze.

"Well, Ms Pope, would you like a ride up to the ranch?" Fitz asked. The rain had tapered off but a fog remained. She looked up at him. He looked like something out of a classic Hollywood Western, a modern-day version of Paul Newman's Butch Cassidy sitting so high up on that horse. He held out a hand to pull her up.

"Uh, no thanks, I'll walk," Olivia said sheepishly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Fitz said brusquely. "It's wet and rainy out here and you'll just end up catching pneumonia the longer you stay out here."

The truth was that Olivia was afraid to get on a horse and get on _that_ horse especially next to that particular former POTUS. That was like too weird and..._sexy_. The thought of being that close to him, well, her girly parts began to tingle a little just at the thought of straddling a saddle sitting right behind him, holding on tight to his waist and feeling...

"Ms. Pope?" Fitz called her again, breaking her out of her reverie. "C'mon, take my hand."

"No, it's OK. I'll walk," she replied. "Thank you, anyway."

Fitz shook his head and snorted in disgust. "Fine, suit yourself." He made a slight clicking sound with his teeth, tapped the heel of his boots against the side of Poker Face's belly and took off and left Olivia standing there.

* * *

"Oh, you're back. Finally," said Cyrus as Fitz came walking into the house. He was seated at the dining room table with a bunch of documents spread out in front of him. "Olivia Pope is on her way from the airport and should be here any moment now."

"She's already here," Fitz said, taking off his jacket, shaking it out and hanging it up. "I just met her."

"What do you mean, already here?" Cyrus asked, getting up from his chair.

"Yeah, she was walking up the road when I was coming back from my ride. Stubborn little woman, she is," Fitz said.

"Wait a minute," Cyrus walked toward Fitz. "You met Olivia on the road and you just left her there? Why didn't you bring her with you to the house?"

"I tried to but she's pigheaded. I offered her a ride but she refused," Fitz said.

Cyrus cocked his head to one side but said nothing. A few minutes later the doorbell rang. Mrs. Banfield emerged from the kitchen to go get it but Cyrus was ahead of her and opened the door. "Olivia! Welcome to the ranch! So good to see you!"


	3. Don't Judge Me

**Chapter 2: Don't Judge Me**

When Olivia and Cyrus walked into the Grant ranch library, Fitz was already seated there reading a book in front of a roaring fire. Olivia was able to briefly catch a glimpse of the cover before Fitz turned the book face down on the side table. It was "Outliers: The Story of Success" by Malcolm Gladwell. She wasn't sure what significance, if any, there was, but every little detail she could pick up about Pres. Grant could be revealing and come in handy once she started writing his biography. Well, that is, if she got hired to write his biography. Olivia took a deep breath as she and Cyrus sat down on the couch diagonally across from the overstuffed armchair that Fitz was seated in.

"So, Ms. Pope," Fitz began disinterestedly, "tell me a little about yourself."

Olivia began to recite her personal history, like where she was from, where she had grown up and gone to college, when Fitz cut her off.

"Last year Simon & Schuster offered you a six-figure advance to turn your dissertation on Abraham Lincoln into a biography," he stated simply.

"Yes, that is correct," Olivia replied.

"When is that book coming out?"

"It's not," Olivia said quietly. "Things didn't work out."

"It's not every day that a big New York City publisher takes an interest in an unknown academic's writing. What you wrote must've been excellent to capture their attention. So, what happened?"

Olivia looked at Fitz. Did he not know what had happened? He had to know. Cyrus, who had been her history professor at Stanford when she was an undergraduate, probably told him. But what if Cyrus hadn't told him? Would she be sabotaging herself by admitting what had really happened? Olivia was torn about which way to respond.

"So…what happened?" Fitz asked again.

"The book deal fell apart," she said simply.

"Fell apart? You mean the publisher withdrew their fat advance and canceled the contract when you were asked to leave the PhD program at Princeton, isn't that right?" Fitz asked.

Olivia swallowed. This was going to be difficult. And embarrassing.

"Why were you kicked out of the PhD program at Princeton?"

Olivia knew the question was coming, and yet she was unprepared on how to answer it. She looked over at Cyrus for a lifeline but none was coming. She thought Cyrus would've cleared this with Pres. Grant before this interview.

"Uh, well, you see, uh, there was a miscommunication," Olivia stammered.

"A miscommunication?" Fitz asked testily. "Is that what they're calling plagiarism these days?"

"Excuse me?" Olivia asked, shocked. "It was not plagiarism. I didn't properly attribute some of my research to the original sources and I was asked to leave the doctoral program because it was felt that my research wasn't rigorous enough."

"Oh, so you're not a plagiarist then. You're just plain sloppy. Well, I think I've heard enough. And this is the person you want to write my biography?" he asked Cyrus. "I can't believe you brought this intellectual lightweight here."

"Intellectual lightweight?!" Olivia exclaimed, offended. "I'll have you know that I graduated at the top of my class from Stanford and that before I started my doctorate, I was a finalist for a MacArthur Award. Have I made mistakes in my career? Yes, I have, but I didn't fly cross-country 5,000 miles to be insulted by you. I don't care if you used to be President of the United States!"

Fitz just stared at her. His expression was unreadable. She couldn't tell if he was sizing her up or dressing her down. It was unnerving. Olivia cleared her throat and stood up. It was clear this interview was over. "Mr. President, it has been a pleasure meeting you," she said insincerely. "I'm terribly sorry for wasting your time today but good luck with finding a biographer," she said, sticking out her hand for a handshake.

Fitz looked at her hand but refused to take it. As Olivia stood there awkwardly in front of him, his eyes, starting at her fingertips, slowly began to travel up her arm and went all the way to her face. His eyes paused momentarily when they landed at her lips and then continued their ascent until they made contact with hers. It was definitely a look of appraisal and she began to blush under his gaze.

The tension was finally broken when Fitz said:

"If one morning I walked on top of the water across the Potomac River, the headline that afternoon would read_ 'President Can't Swim'_"

"Sir?" Olivia asked, confused. The quote was familiar to her, but why was Pres. Grant saying it?

"Do you know who originally said that?"

"Uh, yes, I think so," Olivia replied unsure of herself. She sat back down on the couch.

"Well, then, who said it?" Fitz asked impatiently.

Olivia looked over at Cyrus who just shrugged his shoulders. She looked back at Fitz. He was waiting for an answer. This was obviously some kind of test. A test that was rigged and stacked against her. A test she probably couldn't pass.

"Lyndon Johnson?" she asked tentatively.

Silence. All that could be heard was the crackling of the firewood as it burned in the fireplace. Olivia shifted uncomfortably in her seat as Fitz stared straight ahead, saying nothing. He was clearly thinking. Several seconds passed and then he said: _"To believe all men honest would be folly. To believe none so is something worse."_

"John Quincy Adams," Olivia replied, assertively.

"_hmm_," Fitz mumbled as he stood up. He walked over to the fireplace and picked up a log from the nearby metal basket. With his back to Olivia and Cyrus, he began reciting another presidential quotation:

_"'Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired, signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed,"_ he said, putting another log on the fire. He turned and looked right at Olivia and continued, '_The world in arms is not spending money alone. It is…'"_

"_…spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children'_ -Dwight D. Eisenhower," Olivia said confidently, finishing the presidential quotation that Fitz was reciting.

He straightened up and looked at her strangely.

Olivia was getting exasperated with this ridiculous, twisted game of presidential trivial pursuit. It was clear to her that she wasn't going to get this writing assignment and that Pres. Grant was toying with her, like a cat playing with a dead mouse. She'd had enough.

"'_Sir, if you were my husband, I would give you poison,'"_ she said defiantly.

"_'And if I were your husband, I would take it'_ -Winston Churchill to Lady Nancy Astor," Fitz replied with a slight chuckle. "_Touché_, Ms. Pope. Perhaps I underestimated you," he said with a smirk. He and Olivia locked eyes for a moment. His blue eyes twinkled in amusement. "Cyrus, please show Ms. Pope where she'll be staying while she's here."

And with that, Fitz turned and walked out of the library leaving Olivia and Cyrus alone.

"Does this mean I'm hired?" Olivia asked Cyrus, puzzled.

"Looks like it, kiddo," Cyrus said with a wide grin.

* * *

_A/N: omg, Fitz is such a jerk! But **he's a sexy, brainy jerk**, isn't he? Olivia doesn't realize it yet but she's already falling for him. We'll find out a little bit more about why Fitz is so bitter in the next chapter. Thanks for reading!_


	4. Strictly Business

**Chap. 3: Strictly Business**

"I got the job."

_"What? Seriously! That's incredible! Congratulations!"_ exclaimed the male voice on the other end of the line.

Olivia was on the phone with her literary agent and on-again/off-again boyfriend Edison Davis. He was ecstatic to hear the news that she was now officially the new biographer for Pres. Grant.

"You know what this means, don't you? Another six-figure advance - but this time we're going to make it stick! Wait 'till I wave this book proposal in front of those assholes over at Simon & Schuster," Edison continued. "They're going to regret the day they canceled your first book deal."

"Edison, please, please, just slow down," Olivia said, already regretting she had bothered to call him this early with the news. "I don't even have an outline yet, so there's nothing for you to shop around to any of the publishing houses."

"Doesn't matter, Liv. Do you know what an incredible get this is? Everyone, from Bryan Burrough of Vanity Fair to renowned presidential biographer Doris Kearns Goodwin have been scrambling and groveling for months to get Pres. Grant to choose them to write his biography. Some of the best writers in the business, Liv, and you beat them ALL! Oh my God, this is huge, Liv, _HUGE!"_

Olivia let out a heavy sigh. Edison was way more enthusiastic about this than she was.

"So, what's he like?" Edison asked excitedly.

"What's who like?" she replied.

"_Ha, ha,_ very funny, Olivia Carolyn Pope. The President. What's he like?"

Olivia paused for a second. Where should she begin? That she found Pres. Grant to be arrogant, cocky, domineering, infuriating and extremely competitive? Or that she found him to be highly intelligent, supremely confident, intoxicatingly masculine and devastatingly handsome? How was Olivia supposed to tell her currently on-again boyfriend that the former POTUS mentally challenged and physically stimulated her in a way he didn't, how her face became flush and her heart began to race when he looked at her and how turned on she got at the idea of verbally sparring with Pres. Grant again? How did she tell Edison how totally baffled and confused she was by the swirl of sensations she was already experiencing in the presence of a man she had just met? How could Olivia share any of this with dear old predictably boring Edison? She vigorously shook her head, as though the motion would knock the thoughts out of her brain, and resorted to the standard default answer.

"He's nice," she simply said.

There was silence on the other end of the line.

_"Nice? Are you kidding me?"_ Edison asked in disbelief. "Olivia, you just met a former President of the United States. You're at his ranch, for Christ's sakes! And all you can say is that he's nice?"

"OK, well, maybe not nice, poor choice of words. But I didn't exactly make a good first impression," Olivia said sheepishly.

"What? What happened? Oh, never mind what sort of first impression you made," Edison gleefully said, ramming his way through the conversation. "It obviously doesn't matter because _YOU GOT THE JOB!"_

Olivia took a deep breath and looked at her watch. She wanted to get off the phone.

"So, Liv, when can you get me a book proposal so I begin shopping it around to the major publishers?" Edison asked, his voice still brimming with excitement.

"I don't know, Edison. Give me some time. I literally just got here," Olivia said tiredly. "I'm probably going to need at least a month."

_"A month?!_ As in four whole weeks?" Edison exclaimed. "Nah, that's too much time. You've got one week to get the proposal done and get it to me because once word gets out that you've landed this project, publishers are going to be beating down our door to bid on it. We do want a bidding war, but let's at least get an outline done first so we can make sure we're getting a publisher who will fully support your work this time."

"Well, other than old newspaper and magazine articles, there really isn't much decent source material out there about Pres. Grant," Olivia replied. "I'm basically starting from scratch and the man himself isn't exactly an open book."

"Well, there's obviously something about you that he likes, otherwise he wouldn't have selected you," Edison said. "By the way, Liv, if you want this book to be a bestseller, you'll have to get to the bottom of what happened to his wife."

"What do you mean, get to the bottom of what happened? Mellie Grant committed suicide a year after he was forced to resign and left office. Case closed," Olivia said.

"Yeah, that's the official story but rumor has it that she was murdered and that there was a cover up," Edison said conspiratorially. "In fact, there are a lot of people who think the reason why Grant previously has been so unwilling to do a biography or write his memoirs is because he knows he'd have to talk about his marriage, what went wrong with it and his wife's mysterious death."

"Edison, I'm not Sherlock Holmes," Olivia huffed. "I'm not going to go digging into this man's most intimate and private history."

"Well, if that's the case, you may as well pack up and come back home then," he said annoyed. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, Liv, to not only write history but to create some. Don't go into this project already deciding what's off limits. Nothing at this early stage should be off limits in terms of what you could potentially write about him. Do what you have to to get the full story."

Olivia didn't respond. Maybe she should look for another agent? No, she couldn't do that to Edison, after all he had stuck with her when the first book deal fell apart and then later when she got kicked out of Princeton. But man was he working her nerves with this conversation.

"OK, we'll see," Olivia finally replied.

* * *

After getting off the phone, Olivia went downstairs. Cyrus had told her earlier that he was going in to town and would be back in a few hours, so she wasn't expecting to see him around. As she walked by the dining room on her way to the kitchen, she heard Fitz call out to her. "Ms. Pope, Mrs. Banfield is about to serve lunch. Please, come join me," he said, standing up.

Olivia entered the large dining room. A few hours earlier the table had been covered in paperwork. She had noticed that when she had originally arrived. Cyrus must've taken the documents away.

She walked over to the empty chair directly across from Fitz and sat down. Mrs. Banfield, the housekeeper, came in with another place setting and set down a plate and cutlery in front of Olivia. "What would you like to have for lunch?" she asked. Olivia looked over at Fitz and simply said, "I'll have what he's having."

The housekeeper left and Olivia picked up the monogrammed cloth napkin that was at the place setting, unfolded it and placed it in her lap. Mrs. Banfield came back and started serving the food. She put a plate of piping hot pasta in front of Olivia. It smelled delicious.

"So, have you been following the news out of Washington about those fiscal cliff talks?" Olivia asked Fitz in an attempt to make small talk. "I heard on the news that the Republicans and Democrats have reached an impasse on extending the Bush-era tax cuts."

"Old habits die hard," Fitz said, grabbing a roll from the breadbasket on the table. "Thank God I don't have to deal with that kind of politicking anymore."

"You don't miss it? Washington, I mean?" Olivia asked.

"It's been said that politics is the second-oldest profession. I learned that it bears a striking resemblance to the first," Fitz said flatly.

"Prostitution?" Olivia asked.

"Yes, prostitution, the world's oldest profession," Fitz responded. Olivia looked shocked. "You seem surprised."

"Well, it's just a rather cynical view of politics, don't you think?" she asked.

"And I suppose you think politics is simply about serving the public good and that no sacrifice, no pain is involved in the process?" he asked.

"No, of course not. I'm not that naïve," she replied defensively.

Fitz laughed bitterly. "If you only knew the things a politician has to do to win, the deals he has to make to survive, the things he has to agree to just to keep his head above water…" his voice trailed off. "Well, let's just say you wouldn't find the comparison between politics and prostitution that farfetched."

Olivia picked up her glass of water and took a sip. She was beginning to wonder what exactly had she gotten herself into. Pres. Grant, she could tell, was going to be one tough customer. Would she be able to crack that facade and get enough good and original material to make the book appealing to publishers? He obviously had a wall up. Breaching that wall was going to take work, a lot of work. Was she up to the task?

Fitz went back to eating. Olivia looked at his hands. The first thing she noticed was that they were huge. The second thing she noticed was that he still wore a wedding ring. Mellie Grant, the First Lady, had been dead for two years and he still wore his wedding ring. Interesting, Olivia thought as she made a mental note of it.

"You're thinking Ms. Pope," Fitz said giving Olivia a quizzical look. "What are you thinking about?"

"Oh, just thinking that there's so much to learn about you and how on Earth am I going to be able to capture all of it to do you justice," she replied, smiling sweetly. She had only one week to write a book proposal. A book that could catapult her into the major leagues as a biographer. A book that could erase the career failure of getting kicked out of a PhD program. If she had to go on a charm offensive to get what she needed, so be it.

"I know that you had several other top biographers vying for this project, so I just want to thank you, Mr. President, for choosing me and entrusting me with writing your biography."

"You flatter me and you flatter yourself. Don't." Fitz said.

"Excuse me?" Olivia asked.

"I said don't flatter yourself," he replied. "The reason why I picked you has nothing to do with trust or with talent."

Fitz kept eating but Olivia was shocked.

"Well if you don't trust me and you don't think I have the skill to write your biography, why am I still here?" she asked offended.

"We just met, so there's no way I can say that I trust you. Not yet. And with regards to your talent, well, let's just say that the jury is still out on that one," Fitz said. He looked across the table at her challenging her to strike back.

"I am good. I am brilliant. I came here with an open mind. I came here ready to give this my all. I came here prepared to eat, breathe, live Fitzgerald Grant for every minute of every day for however long it takes. And you know why? Because I want to write the best, damn presidential biography ever. But you know what? If you feel that I'm an untrustworthy, talentless hack, it's not too late to find yourself another writer," she said angrily, standing up. She threw her cloth napkin down on the table.

"There aren't many writers who would put up with these insults. You would be lucky to have me. I don't need this!" she exclaimed as she headed towards the door.

"Stop. Walking." The President's deep baritone voice reverberated through the dining room.

Olivia stopped dead in her tracks. His voice was like a chain that yanked her back and prevented her from taking another step forward. She heard the chair scrape against the Persian rug and hardwood floor as Fitz got up from the dining room table. She quickly turned around to see the President walking toward her.

She stood her ground with her arms crossed in front of her chest. The man was a bully and a jerk and she wasn't going to let him intimidate her like this. But as he came closer, her defenses began to melt. She started to walk backwards and held her hand up in a motion of "don't come any closer." But Fitz ignored her outstretched palm and kept approaching. Olivia kept walking backwards until her back hit the wall. Fitz came to stand less than three feet away from her.

"You are way too thin skinned, you know that?" he asked looking at her intently. "But you are the first woman I've met in a long time who has aroused my curiosity and I find that very..." he paused for effect, "intriguing."

He took a step closer. The energy of his movement put an electrical charge in the air as they stood there looking at one another. Olivia could feel her face getting warm and the flesh on her arms breaking out in goosebumps. Her arms, which were now down by her side, instinctively reached out behind her to touch the wall, as if to brace herself and help her to remain standing. Being in this man's presence, this close to him, was causing her brain to short circuit.

"You're right, I would be lucky to have you," he said in a low voice as his eyes roamed her face. "I don't want you to quit. I want you to stay and accomplish what you set out to do."

"Which is?" she asked.

"Which is to eat, breathe, live Fitzgerald Grant," he replied with a smile that disarmed her. He leaned in a bit more. Olivia looked up at him. He was getting close. Too close for comfort. Good lord, if this man came any closer she wasn't going to be responsible for what happened next. Shaking her head, she moved along the wall to get away from him.

"If I stay," she started to say, "there have got to be some…."

"…ground rules," Fitz interrupted, finishing her sentence. "Yes, I agree."

Olivia had opened the distance between them.

"You give me at least three hours a day of interview time and you'll allow me to record it," she said.

"Agreed."

"I get to ask anything I want. Nothing is off the table," she continued.

"You can ask, but I may choose to not answer," Fitz replied.

Olivia just nodded her head.

"And, no flirting. This is strictly business," she added.

"Of course. As you wish," Fitz said with a smirk. "I can agree to that. Can you?"

He stuck out his hand for her to shake it. Olivia stepped forward but when her tiny palm made contact with his huge one, a jolt of electricity surged through her body. Her breath caught in her throat as Fitz raised her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back of it like a gentleman.

"Strictly business, Ms. Pope," he said before letting her hand go.

* * *

**_A/N: That Fitz, what a charmer. Tell me what you think of this chapter in a review. Don't want to miss a single chapter? Tick the box below that says "Follow Story" so you get email alerts as soon as the next chapter goes online. Thanks for reading! _ **

**_Find me on Twitter: NeoScandal  
_**


	5. It's Complicated

**_A/N: Thanks to everyone who has left reviews so far. They're great and I love your enthusiasm for this alternate universe version of Fitz and Olivia. OK, on to the next chapter. Enjoy!_ **

**Chapter 4: It's Complicated  
**

After lunch, Olivia went up to her room to do some research about Mellie Grant. She sat on the bed, slipped her laptop out of its case and turned the machine on. Once logged in and online, she headed directly to LexisNexis a massive database of public documents, magazine and newspaper articles going back decades. There were hundreds of articles about the former First Lady's death but the details in all of the news reports were sketchy.

She had died of a single gunshot wound to the chest. She was 49 years old and, according to the obituaries, had left behind a loving husband and eight-year-old son, Hunter. Yes, a son who had been sent to live with his grandparents after Mellie's death. Olivia's heart went out to the little boy even though she didn't know him. Olivia's father had died in a car accident when she was 10 years old and she still remembered the shock and pain of that experience and the sadness of growing up without a father.

Olivia's thoughts returned again to Mellie's suicide. It was very odd. Women were less likely than men to commit suicide and when they did, slitting one's wrists or an overdose of sleeping pills was usually the method of choice. Even in death, a woman's vanity will normally prevail, so the idea of disfiguring one's face is usually enough to stop most female suicide victims from using a firearm. No, using a gun was a man's way out. And it would be a shot through the mouth, not the chest.

The fact that the weapon Mellie used was the same gun given to Fitz by his father when he became governor of California, well, that just seemed downright mean and spiteful. There had to be some deeper significance and there had to be something more to this shooting suicide. A piece to this puzzle was missing, but what was it?

Olivia was lost in her thoughts when she heard a sound. It was a rough scratching noise at the door. _"What the….?"_ she thought as she got up to go look.

When she opened the door, the same dog that she had seen out on the road the morning she arrived came barging into the room. The animal was a healthy solid size, easily 80 pounds, and once it entered the room it began sniffing around Olivia. She bent down to pet it and immediately noticed the unusual ridge of fur that swirled up along its back.

"Hi, Hello, How are you?" she said brightly, sticking out her hand so that the animal could sniff it. Olivia loved dogs and this pooch seemed like a big lovable lug. "What's your name?" she asked.

_"TRUMAN!_ _Truman come here!"_ Fitz yelled, walking up the staircase.

"He's in here," Olivia called out from her room. "I can't believe you named your dog after a Democrat," she said jokingly once Fitz arrived at her doorway.

"Well, Harry S. Truman was a scrappy politician, an underdog, a self-made man without a college degree who unintentionally wound up becoming President of the United States," Fitz said walking into the room. "He was a man that people underestimated and he was loyal, caring and smart, which is exactly how this little monster is," Fitz said with a smile as he tickled the canine behind the ears.

"What kind of dog is he?" Olivia asked, curious about the dog's unusual mane.

"Truman's a Rhodesian Ridgeback, or what is sometimes called an African Lion Hound because of its ability to distract a lion while its master goes in for the kill," Fitz said.

"Interesting," Olivia said as she made a mental note of another detail she could put in the book.

"Hey, wait, that's not going into the biography, is it?" Fitz said, laughing. "Please don't try to read anything significant into the fact that I own a dog named Truman who can hunt down lions."

"Well, you've got to admit, it's pretty interesting."

"To you, maybe, but I doubt it will be all that interesting to the general public," Fitz said, sitting down on the bed. Truman came to sit right by his master as Fitz continued petting him.

Olivia immediately grew quiet. A former POTUS who she was increasingly attracted to was in her bedroom, sitting on _her bed_. Well, actually, not her bed. It was really _his bed_ since it was his house so he did have the right to sit on it. But why did he have to sit on _a bed_ in _her presence_?

"Miss Pope?" Fitz interrupted her mental rambling. "Do you have _ADD_?"

"What?" asked Olivia.

"I said do you have some sort of attention deficit disorder? Because you seem to zone out whenever I'm speaking to you," Fitz replied.

"_What?_ Uh, no, no," she said laughing. "I just get lost in my thoughts sometimes. Nothing serious."

"So, what are you working on right now?" Fitz said casting a glance about the room. He spied the open laptop at the foot of the bed. Olivia had neglected to close it when she got up to open the door for Truman. On the screen was a Washington Post article with a huge photo of a Grant family portrait of Fitz, Mellie and Hunter together. Olivia rushed over to grab and close the laptop but it was too late, Fitz had already caught a glimpse.

A dark look clouded his features. "I see. Already deep into your _'research,'_" he said somewhat sarcastically. He stood up. "A word to the wise – Don't believe everything you read online."

He reached for the door but Olivia was close and she grabbed the doorknob almost at the same time that he did. Her hand landed on top of his.

"Wait," she said looking up at him. "I want to get this right. Will you let me get this right? Will you tell me what really happened?"

Fitz looked down at her tiny hand on top of his and then looked at her. He could see that she was being sincere. There was something else he could see in her eyes, a genuine sadness and concern, and it touched him. But could he trust her with the truth?

"It's complicated," Fitz said.

"I know. I can only imagine how difficult this is," Olivia said. "But if you're willing to open up and let me inside, maybe talking will help?"

There was a pause and for a brief moment she thought maybe she had gotten through to him and he was going to open up.

"Like I said, it's…_complicated_," he said, turning the doorknob. Olivia allowed her hand to fall away.

"C'mon Truman, let's go," Fitz called to his dog. And then they were gone, leaving Olivia alone with her thoughts.

* * *

_A/N: It may not have seemed like it to Olivia, but she did just have a breakthrough with Fitz. The fact that he didn't completely shut her down when he found out what she had been reading online shows that he's beginning to lower an emotional barrier._

_But Mellie's suicide definitely seems kind of suspicious, doesn't it?_

_OK, share your thoughts and speculations about this chapter with a review. Check the "Follow Story" box below to get an email alert as soon as the next chapter goes online. _**_Thanks again for reading and may you have a HAPPY SCANDALOUS NEW YEAR! :)  
_**

**_Find me on Twitter: NeoScandal  
_**


	6. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Chap. 5. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back**

_"...and so that was my first real taste of politics,"_ Fitz said.

The digital audio recorder clicked off. Olivia picked up the gadget and pressed "ON." It clicked off again. She had been interviewing Fitz for close to three hours talking about his early career.

"Oh, the battery on this thing just died," she said, putting the device down on the table. "Where's the electrical outlet? I'll plug this in and we can continue."

"Maybe now would be a good time to take a break," Fitz replied, standing up. They were in his study.

"Sounds good," Olivia responded. "I'll just run to the bathroom and be right back."

"Meet me outside then," he replied.

A few minutes later Olivia joined Fitz outside who was talking with Mrs. Banfield the housekeeper. Truman was fast asleep on the floor near the porch swing. The ranch had a beautiful wraparound porch with a gorgeous vista of the rolling hills of acreage that included the Grant property. Olivia sat down on the swing and lightly stretched her legs while she enjoyed the view. Truman drowsily raised his head and yawned.

"I could spend the rest of the afternoon right here," she said when Fitz finally came over. He leaned against the porch railing and said, "it's beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes it is. This entire place is beautiful and I know I haven't seen all of it yet," she replied. "Has this ranch been in your family a long time?"

"Yes, my grandfather bought the land during the Great Depression for practically pennies on the dollar from a bankrupt banker and when my dad inherited the property, he built this house," he said.

"Did you have a happy childhood here?"

"Well, at least initially. And then something happened that shot it all to hell," Fitz said, taking a seat in the chair across from the swing.

Mrs. Banfield came out on the porch carrying a tray with a plate of fruit, cheese and crackers plus a pitcher of lemonade and two tall glasses. She set the tray down on the low table. "Willl there be anything else, sir?" she asked. "No, thank you, Mrs. Banfield," came the reply.

Fitz poured a glass of lemonade and handed it to Olivia. And then he poured himself one.

"So what happened to ruin your childhood?" she asked extremely curious.

"I had an older brother. His name was Adam Tucker Grant, but everyone just called him Tuck," Fitz said leaning back in the chair. "He was five years older than me and the best big brother a boy could have. I was like his shadow, following him everywhere."

"I didn't know that you had a brother," Olivia said.

"Yeah, after Tuck died my father tried to erase all memory of him. My dad was of another generation. He'd grown up in the Great Depression, served in the navy during World War II. But I think the horrors of war he had witnessed didn't prepare him for the pain he suffered when Tuck died."

"If you don't mind my asking, how did he die?" Olivia said.

"He drowned. He was 15 years old, an excellent swimmer, and he drowned. Ironic, isn't it?" Fitz said standing up. "We had gone to New Hampshire for Christmas to visit my mother's side of the family. It had been an unusually mild winter and although it looked like a classic winter wonderland the temperatures hadn't been cold enough long enough to freeze the backyard lake where our family would normally go ice skating. But Tuck and I were kids. What on earth did we know about ice conditions? So on New Year's Day we snuck out early, before our parents and grandparents were up, and went ice skating."

Fitz paused for a moment before continuing.

"Tuck went out on the lake first and dared me to come out as far as he was. Then I heard the most horrible sound. It was the sound of the ice cracking. Tuck knew before I did what the sound was and he screamed at me, telling me to go back, go back, go back. But I didn't understand what was happening and kept skating toward him until the ice collapsed and gave way and he went down."

Fitz closed his eyes as he relived the moment. "The ice had split in half and Tuck was bobbing up and down in the water. I fell on the ice and tried to reach out to grab him but we both knew that it was pointless. I was only 10 years old and just a runt. Tuck was 15 and easily more than twice my size. There was no way I could pull him out without falling in the water myself."

"Oh my God," Olivia said in horror.

"Tuck told me to go back to the house, to get help, but I didn't want to leave him. I knew if I left him he would die and I didn't want him to die." There was a hitch in Fitz's voice. He turned away and leaned forward against the porch railing. Although it appeared that he was looking out at the beautiful California scenery of the ranch, his mind went back there to that terrible winter New Hampshire day that his brother Tuck died.

"Everything changed after that," Fitz said without emotion. "My father, who had so many plans for Tuck, so many dreams, all of that got transferred over to me once my brother was gone. That's basically why I went into politics. It was what my dad had wanted for Tuck and so it became something I wanted to do to honor my brother's memory."

"I'm so sorry. It must have been so hard on you," Olivia said quietly.

Fitz just nodded his head. He let out a heavy sigh and turned back around so that he was facing her once again. She was still seated on the swing. He sat back down in the chair.

"After Tuck, did you have anyone you could talk to? A best friend?" Olivia asked.

"Zeke. He was a local kid, the son of a mechanic. Socially, we were from completely different worlds, but we both loved cars so we instantly hit it off," Fitz said.

"So, what happened to him?" Olivia asked.

"You know how kids are. We grew up and grew apart," Fitz replied with a tight smile.

"So, you're no longer friends? Do you ever think about him? I mean you grew up to become President of the United States. Don't you wonder whatever became of Zeke?" Olivia continued to probe.

Fitz bowed his head, pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh of mild irritation. "You know, Ms. Pope, I think we've talked enough about my childhood. If you don't mind, why don't we call it a day."

Olivia glanced at her watch. It was almost 1 p.m. and they had been talking since a little before 9 a.m. She looked across at him. He looked tired, but who wouldn't be after everything he had talked about.

"Sure, of course," she said.

"I'm going to go down to the stables and go for a ride, so I'll see you later," Fitz said getting up and walking down the front steps. Truman got up and tagged along beside his master.

"OK, see you later then," Olivia said standing up. She leaned against the railing and watched him as he headed down toward the stables. She replayed the past hour of conversation in her head. The former president had been willing to share the very painful story about his beloved brother dying before his very eyes, but then he clammed up when she asked some basic questions about his childhood friend. Maybe it was just exhaustion. After all, they had already been talking for four hours straight by the time they got to that point. But still, Olivia couldn't help but notice how the conversation abruptly ground to a halt when she asked what happened to Zeke. She would've expected this if they had been talking about Mellie, his dead wife, but not about a childhood friend.

As Olivia went to go back into the house she turned and looked at Fitz's retreating figure as he continued to make his way to the stables. The puzzle pieces of Fitzgerald Thomas Grant's life were piling up and she had yet to find a way to make sense of them all.

* * *

As Fitz walked away from Olivia he felt his chest constrict in irritation. He let out a deep breath. This woman was getting under his skin and he didn't like it. It unnerved him. What was it about her? Why had he told her about Tuck? He hadn't spoken of his brother in decades. In fact, the last time he could remember talking about his brother to anyone had been Mellie and that was over 25 years ago. So what was it about this Olivia Pope that had made him want to talk about Tuck?

He was finally at the stable doors. Caleb, his stable manager, came out. "Good afternoon, Mr. President," he said. "Will you be riding Poker Face today?"

"Yes, but don't worry to saddle him. I'll do it myself, if you'll lend me a hand," Fitz said striding into the stables. He needed to get his mind off the emotionally taxing interview he'd had with Ms. Pope and the earthy smell of the stables combined with the sound of the horses would be just the distraction he needed.

Fitz went into Poker Face's stall and walked the large animal outside. He tied the horse to a post and then went back inside to go help Caleb get the saddle and other gear from the tack room. As he re-entered the stables, his mind drifted back to his interview with Olivia.

Why did he have to go and mention Zeke? Fitz shook his head in disgust. If the truth ever came out about what happened to Zeke, well…he didn't even want to think about it.

_"Mr. President?"_

Fitz's head snapped up. Standing there, silhouetted in the stable entrance, was Olivia.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, a noticeable tone of irritation tingeing his voice. "I thought I told you that we were done for the day."

"Yes, I know, but I felt strangely about the way things ended," she said, walking toward him. "I couldn't help but think that maybe I had pushed a little too hard, maybe crossed a line with my questions?"

"Ms. Pope, please, you're just doing your job, right?" he said brusquely, grabbing a horse brush off a nearby shelf and walking right past her.

"Olivia."

_"What?"_

"I said my name is Olivia."

"I know what your first name is," Fitz huffed. He started to roughly brush the back of his black stallion.

"And I know that you know what my name is," she said softly, walking toward him. "Enough with the formalities. I want you to call me by my first name."

Fitz sharply exhaled. He was annoyed. Very annoyed. Who was this woman? He wanted to give her a piece of his mind, but when he turned around she was standing right behind him. How did she move so fast? She was looking up at him and for the first time Fitz noticed how absolutely lovely she was. From her flawless skin, to her doe eyes, to her beautiful full lips, everything about her was soft and fresh and feminine. Of course, he had previously noticed how physically attractive she was. He had noticed from the first day they met, but there had been this hard brittleness to her personality, a bit of a standoffish attitude about her that was a little off putting. But now, it seemed, as though she was lowering the professional mask and was allowing him to see another side of her and the effect on him was almost immediate.

_"So…"_ Olivia said, continuing to look at him, awaiting a response. Fitz was becoming increasingly uncomfortable standing there, looking at her, as he felt his arousal growing in size. His annoyance had dissipated and had been replaced by a wanton desire to kiss her passionately right then and there. _Jesus Christ, what on earth was he thinking?_

"So…_Olivia,_" he finally said, giving careful emphasis to her name as he turned his attention back to his horse. "Why are you down here in the stables?"

"Well, horses and horseback riding are obviously important to you and…" she started.

"And you don't know how to ride," he interrupted.

"…so I thought you could teach me," Olivia finished.

"Are you serious?" he asked.

"Sure, why not? How hard can it be, right?" she replied somewhat timidly.

Fitz snorted and said, "well, Rome wasn't built in a day, but maybe you'll be a fast learner."

By this time Caleb had returned with the riding gear. Fitz introduced them and then started to show her the process of saddling a horse. He showed her how to brush the back and sides of the animal to remove any dirt or grit that could cause chafing under the saddle. As Olivia brushed Poker Face's shiny black hair, Fitz talked about the importance of taking it slow when putting a saddle on a horse's back. Caleb handed Fitz the saddle pad while he was speaking to her.

"Start slowly and make friends before you start putting anything on his back to gain his trust. Speak in a low, quiet voice, no one wants to be hollered at," Fitz said as he laid the pad on top of Poker Face's back. "Think of it as talking to a friend. Be kind and you will get more out of your horse if you talk in a gentle kind voice. The key to any relationship is trust."

Olivia stood back and observed Fitz as he carefully and gently laid the rich brown leather saddle on top of the pad. Caleb then stepped in and started fastening the various cinches and straps.

"There's a lot to this, isn't there?" Olivia said. "I can see I've got plenty to learn."

"Yeah there are a lot of steps you have to go through before you can mount the horse, but once you know the routine it's easy," Fitz said, handing her a helmet.

Olivia scrunched up her face. "Do I have to wear this?"

"First time on a horse? Yeah, you betcha," Fitz said.

"So where's yours?" she asked.

"Mine? I don't need a helmet. You, on the other hand, need to protect that pretty little head of yours," he said turning to walk away to get a mounting block, a 3-step wooden platform that allowed inexperienced riders to get on a horse.

"Did you just call me pretty?" Olivia asked playfully.

"No."

"Yes, you did. You just called me pretty," Olivia insisted.

"No, I did not," Fitz said, trying hard not to smile. "I said your head was pretty little. Big difference."

Olivia rolled her eyes and put on the helmet.

Since it was her first time, they just walked around the pen so that she could get the general feel of riding a horse. Fitz remained on foot and walked alongside and gave her pointers here and there about how to hold the reins and control the horse's movements. At one point, he briefly allowed Poker Face to break into a trot so Olivia could experience it. After about an hour or so, he finally said, "So, that's the end of today's lesson. Are you ready to come down?"

"Aren't you going to saddle up so we can go for a ride together?" Olivia asked.

"No, not today. We're not ready for that. For today it was just enough for me to give you a lesson," Fitz said with a smile.

"Oh, I feel awful. I've cut into your riding time," she said.

"No, no, this was good. I needed the distraction to get out of my head," he said. "Ready to come down?"

"Yes."

Caleb came back out and took hold of the bridle and reins.

"OK, the dismount can sometimes be tricky," Fitz said looking up at her. "Swing your right leg over Poker Face's back and then stand up on your left leg. Lean over the horse, bracing yourself with your hands on the saddle, and kick your left foot free of the stirrup. Then push yourself back and jump lightly to the ground." he instructed.

"You make it sound so...not simple," Olivia responded as she attempted the move. The first part she did flawlessly but then her left foot got tangled before she could kick it free of the stirrup. She lost her balance and began to fall. She let out a squeal.

Fitz anticipated that this was going to happen and was there to catch her. "Whoa, steady there," he said as he grabbed her around the waist. "I've got you."

For a moment, Olivia was suspended in the air as Fitz with his left hand untangled her foot from the stirrup. He then sort of slung her over his shoulder and stepped back and away from the horse as Caleb took Poker Face back to the stables. Olivia felt ridiculous sprawled over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and began to wiggle. She tried to slide down his front but Fitz had his right arm wrapped tightly across the back of her knees, essentially locking her in place. He kind of liked her in this position and wasn't prepared to let her go just yet. He started to walk out of the horse holding pen and headed back to the ranch with her still over his shoulder.

_"Ah, excuse me,"_ Olivia said. "What are you doing? You can put me down now."

Fitz ignored her request and kept walking. But out of the side of his eye he saw the ripe delicious curve of her ass in her jeans and knew he was in trouble.

"Ah, Mr. President, can you please put me down?" Olivia asked again.

_"Fitz."_

"What?"

"My name is Fitz. Call me by my first name and I'll put you down right now," he said. He stopped walking but his large hand moved up from the back of her knees to her mid-thigh region.

Olivia felt his hand move and almost jerked upright. "I can't do that! That would be inappropriate," she squealed.

"Well, then, let's be inappropriate," Fitz said with a chuckle.

"Ha, ha, very funny, Pres. Grant. Now, please, put me down," she said firmly.

Fitz resumed walking. "We are so past this Pres. Grant crap. Just say my name."

"Or else, what?" Olivia asked.

"Or else…you'll remain over my shoulder until we get back to the ranch."

"Pres. Grant, I'm not going to ask you again. Put me down right this instant!" Olivia yelled as she began to beat her arms against his back and flutter kick her feet against his midsection.

Fitz stopped walking, reached up and then set her down. Once her feet were back on the ground, Olivia avoided looking at him. She tugged down her shirt, took off the equestrian helmet, threw it on the ground and ran back to the house.

* * *

_**A/N: Oh my God, these two are fighting the obvious mutual attraction. And as always, Olivia is her own worst enemy.** This chapter seemed to be marked by two steps forward, one step back. Fitz unexpectedly opens up about seeing his older brother die but then clams up when asked about Zeke, a childhood friend. Olivia opens up when Fitz teaches her to ride a horse but then she gets scared when he becomes a little too flirtatious. Sigh. When will these two crazy kids get in sync?_

_**Check the "Follow Story" box below to get email alerts as soon as the next chapter goes online. Leave a signed review and there might just be an advance preview of the next chapter in store for you! I should have that sneak peek ready by Thurs/Friday.** (You'll need to have private messaging enabled on your Fan Fiction account so I can email an excerpt to you.)_

**_Thanks and Happy New Year! xoxo_**

**_Neo  
_**

**_Find me on Twitter: NeoScandal  
_**


	7. Hearts Connected

**_A/N: Your reactions to the last chapter were incredible! Thanks so much for all the positive feedback and encouragement._ _Enjoy this latest entry and thanks for reading! - Neo _  
**

**Chap 6: Hearts connected, _just when you least expect it_**

Olivia was completely out of breath by the time her feet hit the front porch steps of the house. She immediately ran upstairs to her room and slammed the door. She walked around in circles. Her mind was racing. _What the hell just happened outside?_ she thought. The horseback riding lesson, her dismount stumble, him grabbing her by the waist and then carefully holding her aloft while he untangled her foot from the stirrup. She recalled the heat transfer from his hand to the back of her thigh as he carried her.

Everything was going so well until Pres. Grant came on to her. That was what that was, wasn't it? _ A normal man doesn't act like that, does he?_ she thought. When was the last time Edison, or any man for that matter, had swept her off her feet like that? _Uh, how about like…never_, she snickered.

But normal was overrated and Pres. Grant wasn't normal. The range she had witnessed in his personality that day had caught her completely off guard. He had gone from being stoic and reserved to fun and relaxed. Yes, he could be a complete asshole at times, but today he had been surprisingly tender, considerate and actually quite fun to be around.

Was he interested in her in that way? In a romantic way? No, it couldn't be, could it? Why would a man like that be interested in her? He was rich, powerful, famous and handsome. Why would he be attracted to her, a 36-year-old nerd? Had she misinterpreted his behavior? She continued to walk around the room in circles as she continued to replay the entire episode in her head, analyzing every micro expression and moment of her recent encounter with the former POTUS.

_No, he had most definitely been flirtatious,_ she thought, commanding her to call him by his first name. She recalled her reaction to his request that it wouldn't be appropriate for her to be so informal with him. She stopped walking in circles to look at herself in the bedroom's full-length mirror. _"Well, then, let's be inappropriate,"_ she said mimicking Fitz's deep baritone as she looked at her reflection.

Olivia's hand instinctively touched her leg as she recalled the memory of his massive hand on the back of her thighs. Yes, he had definitely moved his hand up her thigh, mere inches away from her butt. And yes, despite her protests, she had been completely turned on by his _"me Tarzan, you Jane"_ act. She was getting moist just thinking about it again. She was wound so tight she needed some sort of release. There was no way she could go downstairs right now and see him again. Not yet.

She kicked off her shoes, unzipped and wriggled out of her tight jeans. She unbuttoned the top buttons of her shirt and collapsed on top of the bed. With her legs splayed open, her right hand went between her thighs as her fingers began to lightly stroke her sex. How she wished she had a vibrator right about now, she thought. In her mind's eye she saw a large, strong masculine hand massaging her mound through her thin panty. She slipped her left hand under her bra and began to tease her nipples.

Suddenly there was a scratching noise at the door, followed by the sound of a dog whimpering.

"Truman! Go away!" Olivia yelled.

A few seconds later came more door scratching and dog whimpering. But this time it was punctuated by a knock.

"Truman, I said, **_GO AWAY!"_**

"Ms. Pope, it's Pres. Grant," said a deep voice.

_Oh shit!_ Olivia hissed under her breath, scrambling to her feet. _"Just a minute!" s_he yelled as she grabbed her jeans and stumbled to put them back on.

She opened the door breathless, as if she had just run a marathon. Fitz looked at her curiously. Her hair was disheveled, she was barefoot, her blouse wasn't tucked into her jeans and the top buttons were popped open to the point where he could see she was wearing a sheer white lace bra underneath.

Fitz's mouth immediately went dry. He briefly became distracted when he looked down and saw her breasts rising and falling as she struggled to catch her breath.

"Hi," he finally said.

"Hi," she replied.

"Uh…about what happened outside, I just wanted to apologize," Fitz said, a slight stammer in his voice.

"No apologies, necessary, Mr. President," she replied in a low, breathy voice.

For some reason, the way she said _"Mr. President"_ in that moment was a complete turn on for him. He looked at her again, but this time he was confused. She was fidgety standing there in front of him but the scent of her arousal was so strong. Had she been_…oh hell no, no way!_ Had this prim and proper lady been _pleasuring herself_ before he knocked on the door? And just minutes after she had kicked, screamed and demanded that he put her down and let her go?

"OK, well, I apologize for crossing a line with you out there. It was unprofessional, rude and disrespectful," he said sincerely. "And I wanted to let you know that something like that will **_never_** happen again. I can assure you of that."

Olivia frowned and stopped breathing. Fitz noticed that her chest abruptly halted its movement. A strange expression briefly flashed across her face. Was that…_disappointment?_ _No, it couldn't be,_ Fitz thought.

Olivia gave him a tight smile. "Well, Mr. President, thank you very much. Apology accepted, although it wasn't necessary."

"No, I think it is. I acted like a caveman out there and I apologize if my behavior outside made you feel disrespected or unsafe," he continued. "You're a guest in my home and I would never want you to feel uncomfortable around…"

"Yes, yes, it's OK," Olivia blurted out, interrupting him. "No worries. In fact, I've already completely forgotten about it."

"Well, OK, then," Fitz said. "Thank you."

"No, _thank_ _**you**,_" Olivia replied.

"OK."

"OK." Olivia took a step backwards and closed the door. She leaned against the door and then slumped down to the floor.

* * *

_**An hour later**_

_"Hello?"_

"Edison, it's me, Olivia. I'll be back in New York by tomorrow afternoon."

_"Huh? What? What happened?" _Edison managed to stutter out._  
_

"This project isn't going to pan out. Best we cut our losses right now. I'm catching the red-eye tonight and should be back home by noon."

_"Wait. Hold up. What do you mean this project isn't going to pan out? What the hell happened?"_

"This was a mistake. I'm not the right person to write this biography. Pres. Grant isn't comfortable working with me, and my being here is just turning into a big waste of time."

"_Olivia, you're doing it again." _

"Doing what?"

_"Running away." _

"No, I'm not."

_"Yes, you are." _

"No, Edison, I'm not. I'm saving us both a mountain of heartache."

_No, Olivia, you're not. This is a pattern with you. You self-sabotage. Every time you come within striking distance of achieving something good, you get cold feet, pull back and do something to ensure that you'll fail. _

No, I do not!

_Yes, you do. Think about it. You had a huge book contract and were on track to completing your doctorate early and then what happened? You suddenly got sloppy and lifted whole paragraphs from someone else's dissertation and put it in your own? _

"It wasn't unintentional. I was tired. Under pressure, I didn't think anyone would notice."

_"C'mon, Olivia, you know that plagiarism is an unforgivable sin in academia and you knew you'd get caught and yet you did it anyway. But this is what you do." _

Olivia let out a heavy sigh. She didn't want to give Edison the satisfaction of saying he was right but he was. Dating back to her teen years Olivia did have a history of working hard to achieve things and then pull back when it looked like her hard work was about to pay off. For example, like when she was in high school and found out she was on track to becoming valedictorian, she got scared and started skipping assignments and deliberately missing answers on tests so that her GPA would go down slightly. She was like a prize fighter who intentionally threw a fight. But why? Was her fear of success greater than her fear of failure?

Olivia, who had momentarily tuned out what Edison was saying, was jolted back to reality when she heard him say, _"we__ll, you can't come home empty handed because I've already got a few publishers interested in this book. _

**"What?"**

_"Yeah, I already started making some calls and there are three publishers that say they are ready to make you an offer once they see a proposal."_

"Edison, no you didn't. I thought we talked about this? You said you were going to wait."

_"Olivia, come on, now. This book is a major deal. This is the sort of deal that will set us both up for life! Did you really think I was going to sit around twiddling my thumbs waiting for you to write a proposal?"_

"Well, call them back and tell them that no proposal is coming. You can't do this to me!" Olivia exclaimed. "Do you realize the sort pressure you're putting me under?"

_"Pressure turns coal into diamonds. This will give you the incentive to see this thing through," he said. "I'm not going to let you to quit again. My own professional reputation is on the line here."_

"But Edison…," Olivia began to say.

_"But nothing!" he snapped. "The first strike, maybe, people will allow, but two strikes in a row? Forget it. There won't be any third chances if we don't deliver a book this time. So do what you have to do to get that book proposal done, **you hear me?!"**_

This was why she and Edison needed to separate their professional and personal lives, Olivia thought to herself. She hated how overtly ambitious and money grubbing he was.

"Yes, _**OK, FINE!**_" she yelled. "I'll do whatever it takes to get this book done. But I'm telling you right now, you may not like the results!"

_"That's the spirit!"_ Edison said, his tone completely changed in blink of an eye. _"God, Olivia, I love when you get angry like that. It's so hot. What are you wearing right now?"_

_**"EDISON!"**_ she yelled. "We are _**NOT**_ going to have phone sex."

_"It's just that you gave me the biggest…."_

"**EDISON!"**

_"OK, OK,"_ he said laughing. _"Can't blame a man for trying though, right? OK, I'll call you tomorrow. Good-bye."_

"Bye."

Olivia hung up the phone and lay back down on the bed. She looked up at the ceiling and let out a heavy sigh. She was truly in a bind, and writing a book proposal was the least of her problems right now. She was completely turned off by her boyfriend wanting to have phone sex and turned on by a man who she had no business at all liking. Life was so unfair.

* * *

Olivia ended up taking a nice long nap after the phone call with Edison. When she woke up, it was almost 9 p.m. and she had missed dinner. Her stomach was growling so she got up and went downstairs. She wasn't eager to see Pres. Grant. It was going to be the first time she had seen him in six hours and she wasn't sure exactly what she was going to say to him after the earlier debacle.

As Olivia walked to the kitchen, the faint sound of classical piano music floated out into the hallway from the library. She assumed it was a CD. She was shocked when she walked by the library's French doors and saw the president sitting at the baby grand piano playing. Behind him in the background, a cozy fire was already going in the fireplace.

She knocked lightly on the door. He looked up and with his head motioned that she could come in. He continued playing the soothing yet melancholy melody.

"I had no idea you played the piano," Olivia said in a hushed tone, clearly impressed.

"There's a lot you don't know about me, Ms. Pope," he said in a subdued voice.

"That's Bach, right?"

"Yes, the Aria from the Goldberg Variations," he replied. He closed his eyes as he continued to play the sweet haunting melody from memory. Olivia leaned against the piano, enraptured by his playing as she watched his fingers expertly caress the keys to produce such beautiful music. She was astonished to hear him wring such emotion and passion out of the instrument. As the music washed over her, Olivia felt it soothe her jagged nerves and relax her mind. It was so breathtakingly lovely, she wanted the moment to last forever. When he came to the end of the tune, she simply said, _"Wow."_

But Pres. Grant didn't seem to register Olivia's awestruck response and he stood up and closed the instrument. There was a glass of Scotch on top of the piano that he picked up and carried with him as he walked over to the big overstuffed leather armchair in front of the fireplace.

Olivia took a seat on the couch across from him and that's when she noticed that his eyes had a glassy, watery look. It was clear that the tumbler he was holding hadn't contained his first taste of alcohol that evening. He noticed her looking at his glass and asked if she'd like to have a drink.

"No thank you," she said, "I don't drink on an empty stomach and it looks like I missed dinner."

"Mrs. Banfield is still here. I can ask her to prepare something for you, if you'd like," he said, refilling his glass of Scotch.

"No, that's OK. I'll go make myself a sandwich or something later," Olivia said. She paused briefly before continuing.

"You play the piano beautifully. Why isn't it public knowledge that you are an accomplished pianist?"

"Because as a politician I needed to have something that was uniquely mine, something that I didn't share with the public," he said, taking a sip from the crystal glass. "Besides, I knew if it were known, I'd be expected to perform like an organ grinder monkey whenever meeting with other heads of state or during random political photo ops and private Republican fundraisers in wealthy donors' mansions. No, it was better that no one outside of my family and close friends knew."

"Well, I feel privileged for getting to hear you play," she said. "I didn't want the music to end."

She looked at him but there was no response. He looked sullen as he continued to stare straight ahead at the fire.

"You know, I'm so sorry I missed having dinner with you this evening because…"

"Ms. Pope, please, we've both had a very long day," he said interrupting her. He turned to look at her. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not replay the day's events."

"No, I wasn't going to bring that up again," she said. "What I was going to say was that I truly enjoy our conversations. I find that I learn so much about you when…"

"Do you find me attractive, Ms. Pope?" he blurted out.

Olivia was shocked by the question and without thinking she said, "well, _not exactly_."

Fitz let out a bitter laugh. "At least you're honest."

"No, that came out wrong. It's definitely not that I find you unattractive, actually, it's the complete opp..."

"Please stop while you're ahead," he interrupted her ruefully.

An uneasy silence descended between them. Olivia bit her bottom lip as she admired Fitz's profile while he continued to gaze straight ahead at the roaring fire. He really looked like he needed a friend right now. But why was he in such a foul mood? Was it because of what had happened earlier in the day or was it the unearthing of painful old memories about his older brother and childhood friend that was causing him to be in this depressed state?

She wanted to say something, anything, that would reassure him, cheer him up, but she had no idea what to say. Actually, she wanted to get up and hug him. To her, it seemed superficial to tell him that she thought he was handsome. Didn't he already know the effect he had on women? She wanted to say something profound, that didn't make her sound like a giddy fangirl. A few moments passed and then she finally said: "It's the character inside that determines a person's attractiveness, not the outer shell."

Fitz snorted. "Well in that case, don't look too closely inside of me," he replied sardonically. "You may not find anything within at all beautiful, and then where would we be?"

He raised his glass of Scotch, as if in salute, and then drained the glass.

Olivia looked at him intently. This man, this beautiful, gorgeous man, was in pain. And it was a pain she recognized - the pain of regret, of wasted years and blasted dreams. Sitting there across from him the anguish she saw reflected in his face was one she could easily identify with because she had experienced the same pain too.

* * *

_A/N: Sad, moody Fitz is back but he's slowly but surely inching his way into Olivia's heart. But why is he so sad and moody? Is it because he's horny and frustrated thinking Olivia has rejected him? Or was it all that earlier talk in the previous chapter about his past that has got him feeling down? Maybe a combination of both? _

_Post your thoughts in a review! I'll send out a sneak preview to all who do so later this week. Also, please sign up for an email alert for this story, if you haven't already. _

_**Thanks for reading and reviewing!**_

Neo

**_Find me on Twitter: NeoScandal_**


	8. A Friend in Need

_**CHAPTER REVISED/UPDATED on JAN. 20. (End of chapter added.)**_

_** Hi! I've added an ending to this chapter, Chap 7, instead of creating a brand new (mini) chapter 8, since I know how much you guys hate short chapters. :) Thanks for reading and for leaving all the fab reviews! - Neo **  
_

_Original A/N: The reviews and comments you all have been leaving for this story have been incredible! Thanks so much! So happy you're enjoying this alternate universe version of Fitz and Olivia.  
_

_ In this chapter, the mystery surrounding Fitz deepens as we learn a bit more about his past, specifically about Zachariah Goodwin, the prisoner who appeared in this story's prologue. Please read the prologue, if you haven't already, to get some more context. After you read this chapter, what do you think Zachariah's connection is to the Mellie suicide mystery? Post your theories, guesses and wild speculations in a review. Thanks!  
_

* * *

**Chapter 7: A Friend in Need**

After Olivia left, Fitz remained downstairs in the library thinking. Lost in his thoughts, he wasn't sure how much time had passed before he realized that it was raining heavily outside. He got up from the overstuffed armchair and went to go lie down on the sofa. He was alone in the dark with only the light from the fire in the fireplace to dimly illuminate the room. He draped an arm over his face to block out even that little bit of light. He had hoped a few glasses of Scotch would deaden the pain he was feeling in his emotional heart, but it had made no difference. The dull ache was still there and he knew he was going to pay for drinking in excess with a wicked hangover in the morning.

Accompanied by the sound of the wind and pounding rain that lashed at the window pane, Fitz's mind went back over the day he had had. He recalled how he had shut down the interview when the topic had shifted over to Zeke. He knew it must have seemed strange to Olivia that he had been willing to talk about his brother's unfortunate death but unwilling to talk about Zeke, his childhood friend.

As Fitz continued to think about the day's earlier conversation, his mind drifted back to the past, all the way back to the summer of '74 when he and Zeke met for the first time.

* * *

_**Flashback to August 1974**_

Fitz was bicycling home from his tennis lesson at the country club when something caught his eye. He skidded to a stop in front of Lou's Diner, a greasy spoon eatery popular with both locals and people just passing through town. Parked near the diner's main entrance was a bright, shiny red 1972 Dodge Charger. Fitz had read about the car in magazines but never actually seen one in real life. The vehicle, a real muscle car, flashed like a beacon in an ocean of bland sameness of station wagons and suburban sedans. Fitz quickly walked over to the car to get a closer look. Just as he was about to touch it, he heard someone yell: _"Hey, you! Step away from the car!"_

Fitz looked up. Running down the front steps of the diner was a young man.

"This car yours?" Fitz asked skeptically. As the young man came closer and came to stand in front of him, it was clear he was a teenager, just like himself. He couldn't have been more than 16, 17 years old, tops.

"What's it to you, rich kid?" the other teen said mockingly.

"What do you mean, rich kid?" Fitz asked shocked. "You know who I am?"

"Of course, I do. Doesn't everyone in this town know who young Fitzgerald Thomas Grant III is?" the teen said, his voice dripping with disdain and sarcasm. "You're like the Boy Prince of Santa Barbara."

"Hey, look, I don't know who you are or what you may have heard about me, but I'm no prince," Fitz said, stung by the accusation that he was some spoiled rich kid.

"Yeah, whatever," the young man said. "Now, would you mind stepping away from the car?" He was juggling a bag of food, which smelled like it contained a burger and fries, and a milkshake. He put the food and shake on the hood of the car while he dug in his jean pockets for the car keys.

"So, is this your car?" Fitz asked again. He was determined to get an answer and find out how a kid practically the same age as he was could have a car as nice as this.

The young man ignored Fitz. He found the keys and was about to open the door when Fitz said, "Must be nice to drive a car like that."

"What would you know about it?" the young man snarled.

"280 horsepower, 4-barrel carburetor and a Pistol-Grip 4-speed manual transmission," Fitz rattled off the specs of the car's engine. "Hell, yes, I'd say that must be a sweet ride."

The young man took the key out of the door lock and turned to look at Fitz. "How'd you know that?"

"I'm into cars too," was all that Fitz said.

_"Hmmm,"_ muttered the teen regarding Fitz with new eyes. "Maybe you're not the complete loser asshole I thought you were."

Fitz winced when he said that.

"I bet everything you know you picked up from reading car magazines. You've never actually worked on a beauty like this. Am I right?" the young man asked.

Fitz just nodded his head. The young man looked at Fitz intently as though he was deliberating whether or not to continue the conversation. Without saying a word he turned around to unlock the car.

"My name's Zachariah Goodwin, but my friends call me Zeke," the teen said as he slid into the front seat and rolled down the front window. He looked up at Fitz who was still standing there. "My dad owns the auto body shop down on Greene Street. I work there after school. If you like cars, you might learn a thing or two by being in a real auto repair shop."

Zeke turned the key in the ignition and the car's monster engine roared to life. It sounded like a caged beast. Fitz looked on in complete awe at the sight of this teen in the driver's seat, sitting behind the steering wheel of such a powerful car.

"OK, _Prince_, maybe I'll see you around some time," he said with a devilish grin. But before Fitz could respond, Zeke peeled out of the parking lot leaving skid marks on the road.

Gradually, Zeke and Fitz became good friends. Zeke, who was almost two years older than Fitz, became like the cool, older brother Fitz wished he still had. Although they were from different social classes, the two teens found a lot to talk about and both grew to feel very comfortable with one another.

Fitz's parents, seeing the strong bond between the two boys, welcomed Zeke into their household, inviting him to family events like their 4th of July cookout, Thanksgiving dinner and once even brought him along on the family summer vacation to Martha's Vineyard. For Zeke, the son of an alcoholic mechanic, the experience was eye opening. He had never been on a plane before, much less outside of the state of California, and to be surrounded by so much wealth and affluence was mindblowing.

But there was another reason why Zeke liked hanging out with Fitz and his family. From what he could tell, they were the ideal family. Fitz's dad, Big Jerry, yeah, he was intimidating, but at least he wasn't physically abusive, like his own dad, Zeke thought. Zeke wished he had a dad like Big Jerry. In fact there were many times Zeke wished he could be adopted by the Grants but he knew, of course, that would never happen.

Fitz didn't know what Zeke's home life was like because he never talked about it and he never invited Fitz over to his house. Fitz figured it was because Zeke felt self-conscious about where he lived and about the fact that his family didn't have money. But Fitz didn't care about that, so he never brought the subject up.

One afternoon when he stopped by the auto body shop and Zeke wasn't there, Fitz got concerned. When he called Zeke at home, his dad answered the phone and said Zeke was sick. Two days went by with no word from him. On the third day, Fitz decided to stop by Zeke's house after school. It was the first time he had ever gone there. It was a small, two-bedroom rancher located on a busy street. There was an old clunker on cinder blocks in the driveway and some plastic chairs and toys strewn across the front yard. It was definitely a marked contrast from the neighborhood that Fitz lived in.

He walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. A few moments later Zeke came to the door. He was surprised to see Fitz but didn't open the screen door to let him inside.

"Hey, Zeke, where you been?" Fitz asked. "Haven't seen you in days."

"Yeah, man, I've been feeling under the weather," Zeke said tilting his head down. Fitz had trouble seeing Zeke's face because of the screen door and because there wasn't any light on inside the house.

"Mind if I come in?" Fitz asked.

"Look, man, now isn't a good time," Zeke said, nervously.

_"WHO THE HELL IS IT?"_ came a booming male voice from the back of the house. _"IF IT'S THOSE DAMN JEHOVAH WITNESSES, TELL THEM WE DON'T WANT ANY!"_

"Is that your dad?" Fitz asked.

"Yeah, and he's in a really bad mood. He won't like it if I invite a stranger in," Zeke said, looking over his shoulder.

"A stranger? What are you talking about? We're friends," Fitz replied.

"Yeah, yeah, we're friends," Zeke said. "Look, Fitz, you've got to leave now. Please."

_**"ZEKE, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING TO?"**_ the voice was getting closer. Emerging from the shadows behind Zeke, Fitz saw Elijah Goodwin, a bear of a man, come round the corner and head toward the front door. He angrily switched on the porch light. Fitz recoiled in horror when he saw Zeke's bruised and battered face. He had a terrible black eye that was obviously a couple of days old as the mottled bruise was now a gruesome purple yellowish green hue.

"Oh, it's just you," said Zeke's dad, slightly slurring his words. He was holding a beer in one hand. "How ya doing, Fitz? What brings you around here?"

"Ah, hello, I just wanted to say hi to Zeke, sir," Fitz said nervously casting another quick glance at his friend who had his head down. "Haven't seen him in a few days, so just wanted to check up on him."

"Check up on him?" Elijah Goodwin asked angrily. "What do you mean, check up on him? _Boy, what have you been telling folks about me?"_ He turned and looked menacingly at his son.

"Nothing, sir, absolutely nothing," Fitz said quickly, realizing his mistake. "No, it's that one of my cousins just bought a used car and he's having problems with the transmission and I told him about your shop and I wanted to find out from Zeke when would be a good time for us to bring the car by to get it fixed."

Elijah grunted. He seemed to accept the story that Fitz had made up on the spot. Zeke shot Fitz an appreciative look.

"Bring it by on Thursday. We're open late and one of my mechanics will have time then," said Elijah.

"OK, will do. Goodnight," Fitz said, walking backwards and stepping down off the porch.

* * *

Fitz's reminiscing about the past came to a halt when he heard a scream. It came from upstairs, from Olivia's room. He sat upright on the sofa. He heard the scream again. He bolted off the couch and ran upstairs. The door to her bedroom was slightly ajar. He burst into the room without knocking.

"_Olivia, are you OK?!"_

She woke up in a wild-eyed frenzy and latched onto Fitz, catching him completely off-guard.

"Hey, hey, it's OK. It was just a bad dream," he said softly, stroking her arm.

"Don't go. Don't leave me, please. I'm sorry. Please, forgive me." Her tone was panicky. She was scared.

Fitz looked down at Olivia's face. Although she appeared to be awake she wasn't fully. Her mind was still trapped in whatever she was dreaming about. He switched on the light.

_"Turn it off, please,"_ Olivia whispered. She was now fully awake and aware of her surroundings.

Fitz did as she asked. The only light to illuminate the room was coming in from the hallway. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

"You alright?" he asked, his voice filled with concern. "That was some dream you just had. Do you want to talk about it?"

Olivia closed her eyes and shook her head no. Her eyes scrunched up in pain and then she burst into tears.

Fitz was shocked to see her like this and acted instinctively. He scooted over on the edge of the bed closer to her and pulled her in for a hug. _"sssshhhh,"_ he whispered as he lightly rubbed her back.

Olivia's body felt rigid in his grasp and Fitz could feel the front of his shirt getting wet as her tears fell. The dream, nightmare, whatever it was, had completely rattled her. She felt so tiny and fragile. Whatever it was that had disturbed her slumber, he wasn't going to ask her any more about it then, but he didn't know what to say, what to do. In that moment he wanted desperately to comfort her, to reassure her that she was safe there with him. While he continued to hold her, he began to softly sing:

_Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around.  
Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around._

_Demons are prowling everywhere, nowadays,_  
_I'll send 'em howling,_  
_I don't care, I've got ways._

_No one's gonna hurt you, n__o one's gonna dare._  
_Others can desert you,_  
_Not to worry, whistle, I'll be there._

_Demons will charm you with a smile, for a while,_  
_But in time..._  
_Nothing can harm you_  
_Not while I'm around..._

His voice trailed off. There was nothing but complete silence, except the sound of the patter of the rain outside. Continuing to hold Olivia, he slightly leaned back so he could look at her face. Her body had relaxed while he was singing and she had stopped crying but her cheeks were tear stained. One last lone tear fell from her eye. He gently wiped it away with his thumb. She looked up at him, her mouth open in shock. "You sing…like a baritone-voiced angel."

Fitz let out a light chuckle. "You don't have to tell me what the dream was about, but you're safe here. OK?"

"OK."

Fitz helped her get back under the covers and tucked her in. "You sure I can't get you anything? A glass of water, some tea, hot chocolate?"

"No, no," Olivia said with a weak smile. "You've already given me the best medicine."

"I'm just down the hall. Call me if you need anything," Fitz said, standing straight up.

"Thank you," Olivia said reaching out to touch his hand.

"You're welcome," he replied with a smile. "OK, to bed."

"To bed."

_"G'nite."_

"Nite."

Fitz walked out of Olivia's bedroom and gently closed the door. Truman was sitting there in the hallway waiting for his master. He looked up at Fitz and cocked his doggie head to the side as if to ask, _"So, what happened in there?"_

Fitz stood there for a brief moment, his brow furrowed, and said under his breath, "I don't know."

Yes, indeed, what _did_ just happen in there? he thought. Olivia had had a terrible nightmare, brought on by what, he didn't know, and his first instinct had been to comfort, protect and hold her, not to push her away. That wasn't like him.

In one single day, this woman had run him through a gauntlet of emotions and he wasn't an emotional or sentimental man. He prided himself on keeping his emotions in check. But she was bringing out aspects of his personality that had laid dormant for years and was tapping into some deep emotional reserve inside him he wasn't even aware still existed.

How was she able to have this effect on him after such a short time? Fitz shook his head, almost in disbelief, as he made his way down the hall to his own bedroom. "Truman," Fitz said with a smile to the dog who was by his side. "I think your dad is about to get into some real serious trouble with Ms. Olivia Pope."

* * *

**_A/N: omg, isn't Fitz absolutely DIVINE? Who knew he had such sweet tenderness inside him? But based on that flashback, those lyrics could've also applied to how Fitz felt Zeke's situation. Perhaps it was that memory that set the stage for how Fitz reacted to Olivia's nightmare. _**

**_It's been quite an emotional day he and Olivia have had together. What will tomorrow bring for these two? What do you think Olivia's nightmare was about? Speculate in a review! Thanks for reading!_**

**_P.S. The song that Fitz sings like a lullaby is "Not While I'm Around" from the Broadway musical Sweeney Todd. Google it on YouTube if you're not familiar with it. Great tune!_**

**_Find me on Twitter: NeoScandal_**


	9. Hello Kitty

**_A/N: OK, this chapter is going to give you a little break from the drama and angst that has come before. There's a phrase that Fitz uses in this chapter - "veni, vidi, vici." It means "I came, I saw, I conquered" in Latin. Read on to find out how he uses it. Hope you like this chapter! - Neo_  
**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Hello Kitty**

_Beep, beep, beep._

The alarm went off at 7:30 a.m. Olivia, her head still face down in the pillow, blindly reached over to the nightstand and shut it off. Her head felt heavy, almost like she had a hangover, but she knew it was because she hadn't slept very well the night before. She shuddered as she remembered the nightmare she'd had and then slowly smiled to herself as she recalled Fitz coming to her rescue. The memory of him holding her as he sang to her made her feel warm and fuzzy inside. For years, Olivia had suffered from a recurring nightmare. It was something she didn't talk about and the one time she did, with Edison, he just kind of brushed it off and told her to get an Ambien prescription so she could sleep better.

But Pres. Grant, he just reacted in a way that surprised Olivia. He didn't probe, he didn't judge, but the genuine concern he had for her was written all over his face. This man was such an enigma, she thought. One minute he was aloof and abrupt and then the next he could be so sweet and tender. _Was it an act? Would the real Fitzgerald Grant please stand up?_ she thought. She rolled onto her back and looked up at the ceiling. She wanted to lie there a bit longer but decided against it. She lazily rolled out of bed and pulled on a robe.

When she stepped out into the hall to go to the bathroom she was greeted by the most glorious sight – Fitz coming out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel. His freshly shampooed hair was slicked back except for a single curl that had sprung forward, making him look like Superman. The white fluffy towel sat dangerously low on his hips, displaying his washboard abs and a surprisingly cut upper body. She knew that he was fit, anyone could tell that from seeing him fully clothed, but to see him like this, half naked, all taut muscles on display, it was just too much for a hot-blooded female to handle. "_Was this what 52 looked like?"_ Olivia thought to herself. _"Damn he looks fine."_ In fact, he had an athletic, sexy body that would put men half his age to shame. She briefly closed her eyes as she bit down on her bottom lip and sent up a silent prayer. _"Please, God, tell me I'm not dreaming."  
_

"Oh, hey, good morning," Fitz said, surprised to see her.

"Morning," Olivia managed to squeak out.

"Sleep OK?" he asked.

"Why, yes, thank you," she replied nervously, looking up, down, anywhere but directly at him.

"Oh, yeah, about this, sorry," Fitz said gesturing to the bathroom. Olivia finally looked at him. "Truman dropped a ball down the toilet in my bathroom and now the drain is all backed up. A plumber's coming out today to fix it. Didn't think you'd mind if I used your bathroom instead," Fitz said standing there, looking like some kind of greek Adonis with chest hair. Olivia loved the chest hair. It wasn't too thick and bushy or too sparse and patchy. It was just right. Like Goldilocks. _Mmmm hmmm_, she thought looking at him.

Her eyes slowly moved down to where the towel was wrapped around his waist. She silently hoped that he would have a towel malfunction so that she could get an eyeful of the presidential package underneath. She wanted to taste, nibble and lick that man from head to toe, he looked so yummy. Olivia was so caught up in her fantasy she didn't realize she was staring.

Fitz caught her looking at his body and smirked.

"It's still pretty steamy in there, so you may want to wait a few minutes before going in," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "It's too bad though."

"What's too bad?" she asked.

"Well, if I had stayed in the shower a few minutes longer, maybe you would've walked in and joined me," he said with a mischievous grin. "I wouldn't have minded the company."

Olivia coughed. Loudly. Like she was choking on a chicken bone.

"Hey, what's that on your head?" Fitz asked.

Olivia touched the side of her face right above her temple, and felt the fabric of the scarf she used to wrap her hair at night. She snatched it off her head.

"Cute boy shorts, by the way," Fitz said, laughing. Olivia looked down and realized that her thin robe was hanging wide open and her white camisole and _"Hello Kitty"_ boy shorts were on full display. She inwardly groaned. _Ugh!_

"See you downstairs for breakfast?" he asked as he walked back to his room.

Olivia's response was to slink back into her room and close the door. She threw herself on the bed, grabbed a pillow and screamed into it. **_Aaaaarrrrggggh!_**

Olivia deliberately took her time getting ready to go down for breakfast. She hoped by the time she got downstairs, Fitz would already be done eating, but no such luck. He was still at the table, drinking his coffee, and reading the news on his iPad when she arrived.

"Good morning. You're finally here," he said, looking up from his iPad. "I thought you might have gone back to sleep. Speaking of which, did you get much last night?"

Olivia told a little white lie and nodded her head yes but then she inadvertently allowed a yawn to escape. She gave Fitz a sheepish look. "Well, maybe not enough."

She sat down at the table and reached across to grab the pitcher of orange juice and poured herself a glass. She yawned again.

"So, what's on the agenda for today?" Fitz asked.

"Well, I thought we could talk more about your time as governor of California," Olivia replied. "In particular, how you handled the powerful teacher's union and prevented a statewide teachers strike from happening."

"That's boring," Fitz said. "Next topic."

"You were a Rhodes Scholar at Oxford. That must have been a fascinating experience."

"It was. Next."

Olivia shook her head. "I can see you're not going to make this easy for me today. Well, OK then, here's a topic I'm sure you're going to love to talk about…your time in the Navy as a fighter pilot."

"_Veni, vidi, vici. _Next topic."

In spite of herself, Olivia had to laugh. "Cute, Pres. Grant, very cute."

"Fitz."

She ignored him. She knew what he was doing. He was trying to break down her professional wall and get her to relate to him as just a man. But she couldn't do that._ Or could she?_

"I've got an idea," Fitz said looking at her curiously from across the kitchen table. "Why don't we spend the day talking about you."

"About me?" she asked surprised.

"Yes, about you," he replied. "After all, I think it's only fair. You know so much about me already and what do I know about you?"

"Mr. President, you know enough," she replied.

"Other than the fact that you went to Stanford, dropped out of Princeton, know a ton of obscure quotes about dead presidents, are learning how to horseback ride and look impossibly cute in a pair of _Hello Kitty_ boy shorts, I'd say I know very little about you," he replied with an adorable grin.

Olivia pursed her lips in amusement. The legendary Fitz Grant mojo was working its magic on her. "_Stop playing hard to get and just succumb to his charm, will ya!"_ said the little devil on her left shoulder. "_Don't get it twisted, sister. Remember, you have a job to do,"_ said the little angel on her right shoulder. With her right hand, Olivia brushed her left shoulder off.

Fitz gave her puzzled look. Her brushing her shoulder off was a very odd gesture to just do out of the middle of nowhere.

"Look, Pres. Grant.."

_"Fitz…"_

"Mr. President, look, I really appreciate what you did for me last night but.."

"I wasn't going to bring that up," he interrupted.

"I know. And I apologize for having that emotional meltdown in front of you," she said sincerely.

"No apology necessary. I'm glad I was around," he replied.

"Yes, and I thank you again, but I've got a very tight deadline for this biography. There's so much ground we haven't covered yet, and spending even a fraction of our time together talking about me, well, that's a luxury I simply can't afford," Olivia said courteously and professionally.

"And I can see you're not going to make this easy for me either," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Then the doorbell rang. "Saved by the bell," he said standing up. "We'll finish this conversation later."

Fitz left the kitchen and a few moments later Olivia heard Cyrus' voice and the voice of another man she didn't recognize. She walked out to the foyer to say hello.

"Olivia, hi, how's it going?" Cyrus greeted her with a tight smile. He gave her a light peck on the cheek. She immediately could sense that something was wrong. There was something off about his demeanor. The other man who was there was a little shorter than Fitz, but still tall, and although he wasn't in uniform, with his crew cut and perfect posture, had the bearing of a solider. But Fitz didn't seem happy to see either one of them. In fact, the look on Fitz's face was visibly tense. Whatever reason why Cyrus and the military guy were there, it was most definitely not a social call.

"Olivia, I'd like you to meet, Ryan Bishop," Fitz said, introducing her to the younger man standing next to Cyrus.

"Bishop, Olivia is writing a book about me," Fitz said by way of explanation as the two strangers shook hands. But it didn't go unnoticed by Olivia that Fitz didn't say what Bishop's connection was to him.

"Olivia, if you'll excuse us, there's an important matter that Cyrus, Bishop and I have to talk about privately," Fitz said. "I'm afraid we won't have time this morning to do an interview for the book."

"Sure, OK, no problem," Olivia said, stepping back, as the three men turned and left and went into Fitz's study.

* * *

_A/N: Well, well, well. What do we have here? The plot thickens. Those of you who have read my other fan fic, "The Heart Wants What it Wants," will know who Ryan Bishop is. In this story, he's playing the same (type of) character, so check that story out if you don't know who he is. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until the next update to learn who Bishop is and why he's turned up in this story._

**_And how about Fitz and Liv's too cute morning encounter? Can you imagine waking up to the sight of seeing Tony Goldwyn exiting the shower wearing nothing but a towel and a smile? Swoon._**

_OK, show me some gladiator love and drop me a review. Thanks! xoxo  
_

_Until next time, _

_Neo _

_**Find me on Twitter: NeoScandal**  
_


	10. Author's Note - FanFiction Farewell

Hello All,

The Scandal muse that inspired me in 2012 has abandoned me in 2013. So, until she returns, **"Wife Swap" and "Close Enough for Love" are going into my story vault.** In other words, an indefinite hiatus. Sorry to disappoint those of you who were following these stories but since I can't say when or even if I'm going to finish them, I thought I should be honest and say so.

I'm thinking of doing a new non-Scandal story with completely original characters, not based on a TV series or movie. I guess I could always make it an alternate universe take on Fitz and Olivia, but the characters I have in mind, especially the male, isn't really like Fitz. So, I think it would seem very out of character, even in an alternate universe, to try to make him Fitz.

In any case, I obviously won't be able to post that story here since it's not Scandal-related. I'm not sure which fiction site I'll post it on once it's done, so if you want to read the story when it comes out either tweet me your email address (look for me as "NeoScandal" on Twitter) or send me a pm through this site, and I'll keep you posted.

**Thanks very much** to everyone who has read, followed and reviewed my work on this site. And a very special thanks to those of you who have sent me private messages or tweets encouraging me to continue. (You know who you are. :) **I appreciate every single one of you, ** and hopefully, I'll be sharing my fiction with many of you again later this summer.

**_"Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting." _ **- Peter Pan

_xoxo,  
_

_Neo_

**_Find me on Twitter as NeoScandal_**


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